


home (where the heart is)

by isthisrubble



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Airports, F/M, Fluff, I have no idea how airports work sorry, M/M, Multi, Slice of Life, it's only teen for swearing, of dubious quality, sort of stream of consciousness, tired mental ramblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5839660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisrubble/pseuds/isthisrubble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond arrives back in London after a long mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	home (where the heart is)

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't usually post the short fics I write on tumblr (you can reblog this one from [here](http://isthisrubble.tumblr.com/post/138146488008/madeleineqjames-snippet) if you like) to AO3 because they're, well, short, but there is literally one other fanfic for this OT3 on here at the moment (which you should also read, because it's great) and that is a tragedy. so.
> 
> please forgive the unbetaed state of this.

It’s 11 pm by the time he makes it through the International Arrivals gate at Gatwick, and he’s running on the fumes of the fumes he was running on twenty four hours ago. Jetlag plus not sleeping in what feels like a week with a side of “when the fuck did I last eat something that wasn’t vacuum packed” equals feeling like a fucking zombie.

Madeleine is waiting for him in jeans and one of James’s own jumpers, the revolting neon green one Moneypenny gave him for his last birthday as a joke that he forgot to bin straight away. _Fuck_ he’s tired, because he hasn’t seen her in two months and all he’s noticed is the jumper, and then she’s right in front of him and he stops thinking for a few minutes beyond _god she smells nice_ and _fuck I missed her_. Her hair’s a mess and the jumper is even more revolting than he remembers, but she’s still one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen, and she’s also kindly taking most of his weight, because he’s stopped moving now and he might not be able to start again.

She takes his travel case and links their arms like they’re out for a stroll in a park or something. He lets himself be led out of the terminal and through the carparks to wherever she managed to find a parking spot. He zones out a bit there, so they might have been walking for thirty seconds or ten minutes, he’s got no clue. The car they stop in front of is his car, which is confusing for the entire time it takes for Madeleine to pour him into the passenger seat and put his case in the back, even though he _knows_ that neither she nor Q owns a car because driving in London is terrible and should never be attempted except by those who loathe the city’s public transport system with their entire being. So they use his cars, and _he knows this_ , but he still doesn’t remember until he sees Q’s fruit-flavoured tictacs in the cup holder. By this point Madeleine is settled in the driver’s seat, and he promptly zones out again until they get home.

Home. Is that what he’s calling the - his - their? - flat now? That’s new. That’s something he needs to remember when he’s actually awake so he can work out what it means and how best to make sure he never ever says it out loud, because it’s a liability, and he needs to fucking sleep, _god_.

He fumbles his way into the building, up the stairs, into the flat, which is mercifully dark, cool and quiet, and into the bathroom, at which point he forgets how the shower works and Madeleine has to come rescue him. She’s laughing at him, a little, but that’s fine because it is pretty funny, a grown man reduced to staring blankly at a row of bottles on a shelf. He’s pretty sure the shampoo is Q’s, which is fine, because Q always smells nice too, and who knows when he’ll see him next because he could sleep for a week and Q has to work for nine till five (more like eight till seven) like a normal person. He meets James at the airport on weekends, mostly.

But Madeleine is here now, to make sure he doesn’t fall over getting out of the shower. ‘Missed you,’ he mumbles into her shoulder while she’s drying his hair, because he can’t remember if he said it before. Even if he did, it bears repeating. She responds by kissing his nose, which would be annoying under any other circumstances. He may be a little touch starved. He’ll take what he can get.

It’s not until he leaves the bathroom that he realises they’re not alone in the flat. Then he squints at the bed and makes out a shape that is probably Q, and is definitely fast asleep. To which he can only say ‘oh.’ Q doesn’t usually stay over during the week. One of them has to keep up the illusion of being unattached.

‘Go on,’ she says, ‘I’ll be in in a minute.’

He hesitates. ‘He wasn’t waiting for us, was he?’

She shakes her head. ‘He just wanted some company. You’re not the only one who gets lonely while you’re away, you know.’

Tomorrow morning he’ll probably find the evidence of Q’s stay around the flat, his things mixed in with James and Madeleine’s, cat hair stuck on every conceivable surface. But now he’s exhausted and overwhelmed by a rush of affection for both of them, for the intimacy they’ve established, for how safe he feels right at this moment. So he craws into bed, careful not to wake Q, and listens to Madeleine undressing, waiting until she slips under the covers on his other side to close his eyes.


End file.
